Cute

I don't really do cute well, I've decided.

Not that there's anything wrong with cute, understand. The world needs cute. If parents didn't think their kids were cute, there would probably be a lot more child abandonment in the world. Cute in itself is a big industry. Cute keeps plenty of people employed, when you consider all the different facets of cute. Cute has loads of fans.

I guess I'm just not one of them.

And what's bringing on the anti-cuteness, Dee? Oh, it's not anti-cute, per se. It's simply that I don't seem to get much out of cute.

Incidentally, today's cute little insect is a Bruce Spanworm moth, which is active later in the year than pretty much any other moth here. It's not unusual for the silly things to be out in November.

Take illustration, for example. Most of my two fans know that I generally try to do a doodle for the Illustration Friday prompt of the week. For me it's mostly just a kick in the butt to get me drawing on a regular basis (and if you're desperate to see the results you can usually find them on the other blog. Check the sidebar), but many of the participants are professional artists who put much more into their entries than I do. Whether they're submitting new work specifically for the prompt or linking to old work that fits the theme, I usually enjoy looking through the links to see the different ideas and the different techniques used to express them.

Usually.

Sometimes, though, it's overwhelmingly Too. Darned. Cute.

Don't get me wrong -- I know that the cute's for a reason. A lot of those people are children's book illustrators, and not-cute children's books probably don't have much of a market. Even for those who aren't aiming their art at children, I do understand that cute is huge. And what, in the end, is wrong with art that gives people the warm fuzzies?

Oh, I don't know. Nothing, really. I suppose it's just that for me and my non-artistness, I like a bit of a challenge when I'm looking at others' creativity. I know how hard it is for me to (pardon the overused cliché) think out of the box, and I appreciate it when someone else's non-boxed thinking takes me along for the ride.

Or maybe I get a little understimulated by the sofa-painting landscapes that are sometimes submitted for our small gallery at work. Of course, that's not a cute issue. That's more of a deja vu thing, as in haven't I seen this before in one of those ads for travelling art sales that offer genuine oil paintings for less than $20 each!!!...

Hmm. That was a little nasty. Especially since I couldn't paint even a garden-variety boring landscape to save my life. There's a reason why I consider myself a doodler rather than an artist, after all.

Probably because I'm not an artist.

And I do genuinely admire those of you who are, whether your art is to my taste or not. In the end it's the creating that's important. It'd be terribly dull if the end product pleased everyone. And if it's dull there's really no point to the whole thing.

And if there's no point, it of course ends up right here on the blog.

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Further to my tmi mention of yesterday (because I know you're all on pins and needles about it), I'm sorry to say that the pressure built up because of the infection finally got to be too much and I just had to (had to, yes. For sanity's sake) drain the thing. The result, somewhat predictably, is a slight black eye. Ought to make for some interesting comments at work, but whatever. It's much less annoying now, and that's the priority.

And aren't you glad that I told you all of this? I thought you'd be.

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Edited because I just realised how much this post illustrates that I'm doing absolutely nothing for Halloween. Ah well, have a happy one for those of you who are.

Dammit, I had something.

I did. I had something I actually wanted to blather about.

It's gone now. I've lost it, at least temporarily.

I've lost it because of the laundry, and probably because I should have gotten more sleep (hey, what else is new there?), and because an infected pore next to my nose but stupidly close to my eye has started to swell and it's really getting annoying.

Um, tmi there? Sorry.

I guess the point is that I've really, really got to start making at least short notes for myself on the rare occasion that I do, in fact, have something worth blathering about on the blog, because it's becoming increasingly obvious that as I get older I apparently have the short-term memory of a goldfish.

Or at least the proverbial goldfish. It seems to me that the Mythbusters proved at some point that goldfish have much better memories than most of us think they have...

Anyway.

I'm going to continue with doing the laundry and trying not to touch my face, if that's ok. If I can remember what the heck I was going to say here I'LL MAKE A NOTE OF IT (really) and come back later. If not?






Well, that's kind of business as usual here, isn't it?

Phrase you're not likely to hear very often in the office:

I struck out at nose shopping.

Yes, that seriously came out of my mouth this morning when I got here. And yes, I had been nose shopping. And yes, I struck out.

I'm very particular about my noses, you see.

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I don't really have a lot to blather about at the moment because I'm on day two of the headache I mentioned before. At the moment I'm choosing to blame the weather/air pressure. We've had a couple of days of fog, and I think my brain has decided to have its own fog in empathy. Sounds like I'm not the only one around here feeling the same way, though, so I'm pretty confident in my latest headache theory.

Of course, you just know that I'll wake up tomorrow with a blasted sinus infection or something. Juuust to prove me wrong.

Ah well. Let's just hope that wasn't self-fulfilling prophecy right there.

And with that... well, I think I'll leave it at that. Catch you later.

The last one

Working against a particularly stubborn headache today, so ignore me if I sound especially snitty. Oh, and for those concerned that today's pointless photo looks a bit mucked around with... well, yes.

Anyway.

I wanted to touch briefly on a workplace annoyance that maybe your workplace shares with my workplace (sorry, I got a sale on workplaces today). Around here we have a place where baked goods or food in general is left for staff to pick at as they will. You know, meeting leftovers or stuff brought in out of the goodness of whoever-baked-last's heart, that kind of thing. People are just welcome to help themselves. It's great.

Until you get to the last one.

Then we (ok, me mostly) have a problem with the system.

You see, it's my opinion that the person who takes the last one should also throw out the empty container.

This opinion is apparently not shared by everyone I work with.

It bugs me.

What exactly is the point of taking the last one and leaving the container behind, anyway? Is it all about teasing those who didn't manage to get one before they all ran out? Is it reminding us t hat we're out of baked goods and someone should probably get some more? Is it like leaving an empty tube on the toilet roll holder?





Um. I don't get that last one either.

Ah well. I don't have the head to rant on about it today, so I'll just say that currently our office garbage bin looks like we have a sugar addiction because I threw not one but TWO empty bakery containers into it this morning. Did I empty either of them? I think you can guess the answer to that by now.

At least you can if you've been paying attention.



And if you've been paying attention to this nonsense.... well, why, exactly?

Oh, conflicted

We're having a staff art show in the gallery at work again this year. We're also having a fundraiser which involves, amongst other things, an art sale.

I've submitted for both events.

It sort of gets me wound up a bit, because I AM NOT AN ARTIST. I mean, emphatically not an artist. Oh sure, I doodle a little (check out the other blog if you're desperate to suffer through that sort of thing), but they're doodles. I don't take them seriously. I can't take them seriously, because if I did they wouldn't be fun.

Um, for those new to the program, I have a real issue with my hobbies becoming anything but hobbies. I'm always afraid I'll lose something if things start to get serious. And for anyone who thinks I'm overreacting and that something I love will always be something I love no matter where it takes me... well, just ask me how often I've played my piano since I stopped giving singing lessons a few years ago.

The problem is that agreeing to have my doodles shown or, Whomever forbid, sold is like admitting to myself that they have merit. Or at least more merit than "mere" doodles (although a good doodle, I think, can be more than a "mere". But whatever). And if a person admits that they have merit, then a person should probably put more effort into making them actual art.

But I'm not an artist.

Gah.

Hey, I know full well that in the long run this is all no big deal and I really shouldn't let it bother me, but I wouldn't be my little old OLF self if I could simply accept that hey, maybe at a fundraiser someone will buy something that is, in fact, just a doodle and it doesn't have to change anything. After all, did it change anything when one of my pointless photos turned out to not be pointless after all and ended up getting published? No. No, it did not. I still take photos that are just as pointless, and I still enjoy it.

And I'll probably keep on with the pointless doodling too, even if someone buys one of my things.





I'LL FREAK THE HELL RIGHT OUT, but I'll probably keep doodling...

Sooo not an artist.

Yippee skippee

It's been kind of a yippee skippee day, yep.

And what is that, exactly?

Oh, it's when little things are annoying me a bit, but not enough for me to bother going all ranty or cursey over it. Just yippee skippee.

For whatever reason, it's been a theme today. I can go months without the phrase coming out of my mouth, but today I heard it from myself at least five times before I even left the apartment.

Even on the drive here I heard myself calling a speeder zippee skippee.

Yeah. I know. Pretty bad on that one, but it just came out without my even thinking about it.

So what's all yippee skippee about today? Nothing much. Like I said, it's just a bunch of little things, that's all. Add to that the fact that I really don't have anything to blog about even after taking the weekend off (thanks to the Ontario office and her dogs for filling in) and it's all just...

Yippee skippee, I guess.



And on that very edifying and enlightening note...

I'm obviously not W.C. Fields

I don't mind sharing the post with animals ... tho' I guess I do draw the line at children. And if you don't get the reference, there's always Google.

As you can see from the deck boards on this side of the gate, it's wet out there and it's probably only one of maybe four times it's rained all season. Who knew my consciousness would ever be wrapped around "well the corn farmers must be loving this weather".

The critter in the middle, by the way, is Duchess' friend. She -again, the middle critter- is the equivalent of that six-year-old kid from down your own block who appears from virtually nowhere to ask "whatcha doing" when all you want is peace and quiet. Seriously.

The cheesie solar light you see is to help prevent my body coming into contact with the ground during our last, erm, call of duty before bed. There is a perfectly good electrical fixture which lights that part of the stoop but, see, you'd have to have your wits about you to flick the switch on the way out. I've tried mind control from outside when I've forgotten and not been overly successful.

And look, another glimpse into life in the country....which by the way is truly seeping in .... that I actually live in the country now. Why didn't someone tell me?

Not Kansas anymore

Okay, so some things in life change so drastically that they warrant a comment. This could be one.

Every Autumn, at harvest, there is a town celebration which includes a parade. These "machines" were part of the celebration this year.

Wow, am I not close to the theatre district in Toronto anymore. And it's all a good thing (never start a sentence with "and" by the way)....I'm just sayin', is all.

POINTLESS EXTRA POST OF THE DAY:

I REFUSE TO CELEBRATE INTERNATIONAL CAPSLOCK DAY.







so there.

Epic

I had a dream last night that I was giving a music lesson. Just an everyday, ordinary singing lesson like I did for years.

Yep.

I finally get an almost-decent night's sleep and use it to dream about a singing lesson? And not even an exciting lesson. A very routine lesson complete with exercises and theory homework.

I can't believe that even at night I'm that mundane.

Epic boring, I guess.

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Speaking of epic, a small pet peeve that I know I've mentioned before but I'm going to mention again because that's how things roll here. I semi-regularly watch a television program that I can't say I'm a huge fan of because I cry damned near every time I tune in  (of course, I'm an easy mark for that. I cry super-easily, and it doesn't really bother me, especially when I'm by myself. Think of it as catharsis. And I'll probably never have a stress-induced ulcer because everything comes out of my eyes). Actually, the crying's not the real peeve, even though I know that this particular show specialises in sob stories. Nope, that's not what bugs me.

It's the music.

The horrible, horrible "epic" music that they play.

The kind that's supposed to make your heart soar or something, I guess, but in real life just makes you roll your eyes at how self-important the show is.

Or at least that's what it does for me.

I sometimes think that I'm far too attuned to background music. Shows have been ruined for me because of awful music. Back in the day my father and I used to tease my mother a bit for being a Dr Quinn fan, and not so much because of the show (although it didn't do much for me, to be honest) as because of the awful background music they used. Seriously. If you weren't paying attention to the dialogue the music by itself would make a person want to beat her head repeatedly against a wall just to Make. It. Stop.

Ok, maybe that's a somewhat extreme reaction, but it's how I felt. And how I feel about a lot of background music.

And how do I feel about work, where there's currently no background music at all except for what's playing in my head? I guess I feel like I should get back to it.



(Cue dramatic sweeping "hit publish button" violins...)

Gah.

Ok, at some point I will manage a full night's sleep this week.

Not last night, sadly, but some time I AM GOING TO SLEEP PROPERLY.

I hope.

None of this is leading to coherent blather, you know.

Um, bye then.

Pointless photo and a severe lack of sleep of the day:

Yeah, no blather from me.

Instead, here's Max holding up the wall. It's tough work for one cat to hold up an entire wall by himself, I know, but someone's got to do it.

Or at least he seems to think so.

Ah, wilderness

This is my father's pet deer (sorry for the fuzzy shot. And, erm, the demonic eyes. It was still a little dark when I took the photo this morning). It's eating his raspberry bushes.

This particular deer has decided that the yard is its bedroom. It apparently hangs out there pretty regularly, which is fine. Fine now, that is. Come winter it should be hanging out with its friends, and I'll be curious to see if Dad finds himself the proud landlord to an entire herd of mulies.

That would be interesting.

Hey, don't get me wrong -- I'm all for interacting with nature. It is, after all, what I do for a living. I'm just saying that I don't deny that nature can occasionally be... inconvenient.

Example?

Ok. One deer in the yard? Cute. Bambi. Herd of deer eating all of the tulips or digging up the hen-and-chicks? Inconvenient.

One more. Red squirrel? Charmingly obnoxious (yes, there is such a thing. I'm a big fan of red squirrels, as antisocial as they are). Red squirrel using a feeder for cone storage? Inconvenient. Red squirrel deciding to use the roof as its own personal highway (read that as: THUMPskitterskitterskitter. Over and over and over again)? Headed towards annoying.

Ah, it's all ok, though. I'd sooner have a little inconvenience than live without heading out into the yard on a stupidly freezing morning to shoot bad pictures of an interloping deer.





Oh, wait. That didn't make it sound like a good thing, did it?

No, no. I can do this. I'm a biologist, remember? Nature is my friend.

Ok, let's say (without going all sappy treehugger which, believe it or not, definitely isn't me) that it's neat to see those little examples of the fact that it is actually possible to coexist with our fellow animals (and yes, dammit, we're animals. Part of the system, not above it) as long as we're willing to put up with a few minor annoyances. Yeah, it might not be as simple as that in every case, but at least it's a start.









Um. Thus endeth the lesson, I guess.

As promised...

Well, I did say earlier that I'd post. What I'll post is another thing altogether, but I'll see what I can manage.

First, though, I'd like to draw your attention to the artfully blurry photo to the left of Lumpy Penny taking care of the facial grooming. Purposely blurry, yes. I turned off the flash to see if I could get the weird shadows the light from the window was causing. Was it worth it? Well, no, but if it had been worth it the picture wouldn't be pointless and the blog would turn into a pumpkin.

We can't have that. It's not Halloween quite yet.

So. Posting. I've already said sorry to my two fans for the almost non-existent blogging that happened this week, so I won't bother with it again. It was a combination of things, really. A bit of busyness at work (one of the few disadvantages of not having a computer at home is that work-busy means blog-poor. A pretty tiny disadvantage, I think everyone will agree), and a bad pain week that put me completely out of the mood for blather even when I did have the time.

Funny thing about pain. I have a little bit of pain most of the time which, for the most part, is pretty easy to deal with. I'm the first to admit that I don't rank very high (probably fairly near the bottom, really) on the chronic pain sufferers list. What I have, I can handle.

Until it changes.

Old pain, the brain accepts. New pain, the brain obsesses over. It's always THERE. I mean, yeah, it's a good thing that the brain notices pain because if it didn't we'd likely all be walking around with various body parts missing, but when the conscious brain knows exactly what's wrong and that it will eventually sort itself out but the subconscious brain is whining I'm in paaaain... the whole thing gets tiresome in a hurry.

I've been in a state, is what I'm saying. And it wasn't exactly the bliss one.

Oh, and I should also be saying for the benefit of any of you who might be wondering what the heck is going on, don't worry about it. My bad ankle rearranges itself every so often, and it takes a while for the rest of my leg to figure out how to react. It's happened before; it'll happen again. No biggie, except that this has been an annoyingly long go this time around.

Anyway. I guess that's the state of things in blatherworld, and this managed to turn into an actual post after all. Yay me.

I guess I'll leave you with a look at the aftereffects of a well-groomed face. From the looks of it I'd say it's not exactly what she had in mind.

And of course there's always an idiot with a camera there the moment you're not looking like the star you really are...

I WILL BLOG LATER

I promise.

For now, though, I've managed to waste the morning and I'm hungry.

Hungry posts are never a good thing. Trust me on that. They're always a bit rumbly.



Later, then.

For real.

Two very short lists

Things I thought I might blog about today if I had the time:

Braces
Amputating a limb
Catharsis
Rather strange dreams

Things I'll actually be blogging about today:

...
...

Ok then.

I'll try to get to some of the above tonight, or, failing that (as I probably will), tomorrow. Sorry to my two fans for the continuing dullness around here, but circumstances are circumstances.

Catch you later.

Sorry, nothing

Yeah, kind of busy right now. Sorry for the light posting week -- I'll try to make up for it at some point.

Honestly?

I've got nothing. But I didn't post yesterday, so at least have a pointless photo.

You're welcome.

Gas roulette

Gas prices tick me off.

And no, it's not just because of our lovely Canadian taxes (in fact, I'd have no problem at all with the taxes if they'd apply them to infrastructure and things that are actually transportation-related) or the fact that I wish I didn't need a car. It's not even the part where I'd love for there to be an affordable alternative to using all the bloody petroleum in the first place.

Oh, and for those who are about to say THERE ARE ALTERNATIVES!!! I'd just like to point out the word affordable up there. I'm on a pretty limited budget, and that definitely, definitely limits my alternatives.

No, what ticks me off is the mumblemumble arbitrary nature of gas prices.

And please don't start talking about market forces and delivery costs and all of that nonsense. There is no fricking way that that sort of thing accounts for nearly a ten cent difference per litre between the city I live in and a town twenty minutes away.

When I travel back and forth between my place and my father's place, I often find myself playing gas roulette. Say that I have a quarter of a tank or so, and I'm thinking that the price in the city is a little high (as it usually is). There are two towns on the way to Dad's that I could stop at for gas, or three if you count the town that Dad lives in. If the first is a cent or two lower than the city, then there's a pretty good chance that the next town will be even cheaper than that, and that Dad's town may be cheaper.

Except when it's not.

It's probably a stupid game to play, taking my chances on the next spin of the wheel, but the sad fact is that there's often enough difference in price to make playing it worthwhile. And that, folks, is completely ridiculous.

These places are all less than forty minutes away from each other. And yet there was, as I said, nearly a ten cent difference between my city and one of the on-the-way towns when I drove in to Dad's on Friday.

Unfortunately, stupid woman decided to keep driving that day and just fill in the next town.

Which was five cents more expensive.

Someone want to explain that to me?

Of course, since it's a long weekend the gas here has probably gone up to city level by now. Serves me right, I guess, for not filling on Friday. Oh, but the gas companies will tell you that they don't purposely raise the prices on long weekends...





The whole thing's just so completely idiotic, and that's all I have to say about that. I hate being held hostage to my car's fuel, but since it's not going to stop anytime soon I suppose I have no choice but to keep playing this silly game.

As much as it ticks me off, yes.





Incidentally, I had thought about calling this post Gas craps since the game's such a roll of the dice, but there was just something about the idea of gas and craps in conjunction with a day where lots of you are having a big family dinner that didn't seem right to me. You're, um, welcome.

Lids

But first...

Wow, what sad news about Solomon Burke's death. The man had such an incredible, soulful voice. If you don't know it, and even if you don't usually bother with my generally silly links, do yourself a favour and listen to this song anyway. And then do a search for more songs. Believe me, it's worth it.

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Ok, so on a lighter note: lids. My father (who occasionally reads this nonsense... so... um... hi, Dad) has a slightly annoying habit of not putting the lids tightly on containers before putting them in the fridge. This bugs me because I have the habit (well, actually more of an ability) of accidentally knocking things off the fridge shelves while reaching for something else.

Yeah. Guess who was picking leftover mashed potatoes up off of the floor at eight in the morning today? With, of course, appropriate potato-picking language.

Some of us will never learn, I suppose. Move things instead of just trying to reach behind them. It saves you potato-picking time in the end.

Anyway, in honour of lids, I'm choosing to finish this post with a link to the only lid song I know. At least offhand. And yes, I know that I've most likely linked to it before, but that's not going to stop me from linking to it again. I'm officially the Department of Redundancy Department, you know.

And with that: lids. Enjoy it more than I enjoy picking potatoes off of the floor, all right?

What to do, what to do...

I really don't know, you know.

You see, I've had a fairly crummy couple of days. Part of me just wants to type out one big whiny rant, but another part of me realises that I haven't posted much this week and a big whiny rant probably isn't going to do much for my two fans.

Or me, come to think of it. A big whiny rant isn't going to change the fact that the past couple of days weren't wonderful.

But...

I don't really have much on my mind just now but a rather useless stew about my last two crappy days.

So what do I do, then? Blather about that for the sake of a post, take the high road and not have a post at all, or find a distraction?

I dunno.

I could avoid the whole thing and make quick mention of something kind of weird instead, I guess. Yeah, let's do that for the sake of pointlesssness.

I've noticed in the past while that Blogger's navbar has, for some reason, been having some kind of affair with my other blog. For those unfamiliar with the whole Blogger set-up, the navbar is that thing at the very top of the page. It's automatically put there unless you play around with the coding to remove it. Me, I find it pretty harmless so I just let it be. The navbar does a few things, depending on whether you're signed in or not. When you're signed in it gives you quick access to some of the editing features for your blog, but even when you're not signed in it has the follow, share, report abuse, and next blog links that you're probably seeing right now.

It's the next blog one that's sort of messing with me at the moment.

Next blog is supposed to let you explore the world of Blogger blogs, basically. Hit next blog and you'll be taken, as you might expect, to the next random blog. Or at least I thought it was supposed to be random.

The thing is, over the past week I've been getting a lot of next blog hits. A lot. An awful lot. A somebody-must-have-paid-someone-to-put-me-at-the-top-of-the-list number of hits. It's... strange. Good, but strange. And now I feel like I should be apologising to the random blog surfers for taking up internet space with bad art.

Well, sort of. Mine's definitely not the only bad art blog out there. I know that one for a fact.

Anyway, it's harmless, it'll likely end soon, but it just made me scratch my head a bit. As does the world in general most of the time, really, so I guess when you look at things that way it's nothing but normal.




Or as normal as things seem to get for me, at any rate.

Pointless photo of the day:

Aaand... that's all you're getting today.

Bet you already had that one figured though, right?

Oh, nothing

It's more than a bit of a pain week for me on a couple of fronts, and I'm the first to admit that it makes me a little short-tempered.

A lot short tempered.

I'm not in the mood to blather, in other words. Rant, yes. Blather, not so much.

So... in the interests of not typing a bunch of crap that I'll just delete before posting, let me skip the blather altogether and say that occasionally when one is editing photos it's fun to eff them up juuust because.

Which explains today's pointless shot.

I'm done not-blathering for now and will be away from the computer tomorrow, so here's hoping that Friday brings something worth reading.

Or, you know, worth this blog's time at any rate.

Later, all.

Pointless photo of the day:

That's it.

That's all for the day.

Trust me, you sooo don't want me to blather right now...

Sharing the yard

Ok, I'll be honest. I don't have anything today and I really want to spend a bit of time looking at the Illustration Friday entries that have been posted so far before I pack up and head to my place, so for a change I'm going to talk (briefly) about the pointless photo instead of completely ignoring it.

My father shares his yard with a fair amount of wildlife. The birds that anyone who's ever put up a feeder would expect, of course, a few mule deer (who definitely qualify as both a blessing and a curse. Great to look at; not so great for the garden), and... squirrels.

Red Squirrels.

Now, I know that a lot of people find the squirrels annoying, but personally I'm pretty fond of them. They're completely obnoxious, and for something that is food for so many other animals, fairly audacious in the way they'll cuss everybody out (and yes, I'm done anthropomorphising for the moment). They're also endlessly entertaining to watch in their hyperactive activities.

The squirrels are starting to hoard for the winter this time of year, and one of the neighbourhood critters has apparently decided that the blue spruce in the front yard is a great place to hang out. Not surprising -- it provides a lot of shelter, has a lot of cones, and also has a couple of feeders on it -- but the degree of take-over is quite something to see. Not only has he filled a bird bath under the branches with a stash of cones; he's also decided that his own feeder is now his storage shed.

Thus the photo.

What you're seeing there is a feeder that's designed so that squirrels can go in the hole to access the jar and grab the peanuts we put in. I guess this particular squirrel figured that if the jar is good for storing peanuts then it would be EXTRA good for storing spruce cones...

Ah well, more power to him. And it'll save us buying peanuts for a while, so that's all right too.





And with that, I'm off to the art.

Poem of the day:

But first...

This photo was taken a while ago, but currently the Johnny Jump-ups are about the only things still flowering out there. Holy cow, are those things hardy.

Anyway.

I've lost a topic. I'd had a thought about what I was going to blather on about today and it was almost even a good one (at least, I found it interesting), but between laundry loads and other morning nonsense I've completely forgotten what it was. That more than ticks me off, to be honest. I have enough days here without actual topics that to have a topic and then lose it just seems completely and stupidly unfair. And to top it off, I have very little doubt that when I do remember it again I'll realise that it wasn't all that great an idea to begin with, and I'll have wasted my time being ticked off that I forgot it in the first place.

Um, yeah. Sometimes my brain is a slightly confusing place to be.

Ah well. In lieu of a real post, then, I thought I'd introduce what may or may not be a regular feature of the blog on blatherless days from now on. You see, I'm a bit of a poetry buff and have been for some time. I even have periods of writing (fairly bad) poetry to amuse myself, although I'm in an off-cycle for that at the moment. What I thought I'd do, though, is start looking up a few of my favourites on the the Representative Poetry Online database and posting the links here. I'm not going to do any analysis or anything like that (poetry analysis can drive all the enjoyment of a poem off into the sunset for me, really. I know that there's value to it, but I like making up my own mind about what I'm reading rather than being told what I should be getting out of it. I'm funny that way.), but I will put a note or two about why the poem stays in my head.

And for those of my two fans who have no use for poetry... well... read the damned poems anyway. It'll only take a moment, and you'll be keeping me from getting crankier.



So. Today's feature is by A.E. Housman. It's A Shropshire Lad LXII, but it's better known by its first line: Terence, This is Stupid Stuff. And why am I picking that particular poem?









Part of me just wants to say because I like it and be done with this post. It's been interrupted too many times, and I'm starting to want lunch over blather. At any rate, let me say that I like the superficial simplicity of Housman's lines, I like the feeling of the breaking of the fourth wall that this poem gives in the context of the whole collection, and I like that a classical scholar like Housman was able to write in a way that didn't require a dictionary and encyclopedia to get at least the gist of what he was saying. His lines are sing-song and his rhymes don't generally stretch too hard, and the whole collection feels very natural. I know it's probably a little odd to feel comfortable in a group of poems that deal with death and disconsolation, but I'm comfortable in Housman's work.

And is that the point of poetry? No, of course not. Believe me, there are plenty of uncomfortable poems out there, and if I decide to do this again you can bet that you'll see at least a few of them here.

For now, though, I need to find some food.




We all have our priorities.

The food sort...er

Anyone who hasn't realised by now that the photos are pointless and rarely have anything to do with the blather du jour is probably pretty confused, don't you think?

Anyway.

I'm currently eating wine gums (a healthy lunch choice, I'm sure you'll agree) and of course I'm eating them in the right order.

I have to.

If I reached blindly into the bag instead of dumping a few onto the desk, I'd still have to eat them in the right order. Order by colour, and then order by the number of each colour. Everything has to be equally balanced, naturally.

Welcome to my OLF life.

I've been doing that since I can remember, to be honest. Anything like wine gums or jujubes or... well, pretty much anything in the candy realm that has specific colours (and especially if the colours correspond to specific flavours) should be eaten in a certain order. In a way it's good because it probably slows the eating process down a bit, but I'm the first to admit that it's not entirely normal.

Well, for you, probably. It's definitely entirely normal for me.

It shouldn't be surprising since it fits right in with my attraction to pattern and my need to catalogue, but sometimes it takes me a moment of sitting back and really watching what I'm doing to actually see that I'm doing it. I'm a food sorter. Not a compulsive one (the world won't end in a massive anxiety attack if the red gets eaten before the orange instead of the right way around), but a habitual one. When I'm eating peanuts I eat all the single halves before I go on to the intact ones. If I put potato chips on a plate I'll eat the broken ones before I touch the whole ones. And if I'm eating Terra Chips (I looove Terra Chips. Good thing they're expensive enough to make them a rare treat. Otherwise I think I could live on Terra Chips) the sorting could easily take all day if I let all my usual rules come into play. In that case I don't, though. Not generally. But if anyone's interested, ending up with only taro counts as a win...

Win. Interesting. Sometimes when I'm blathering on I accidentally hit on an idea that makes sense. Like I said above, this isn't a compulsive thing. I don't get uneasy if I don't have a chance to sort my food; it's just that I enjoy sorting it when I do have the chance. Maybe it really is a game. Maybe I'm just playing with my food to see if I can make things work out in just the right way so that the "best" thing is the last to go. That's not so bad, is it?

In the end it doesn't matter anyway, because I'm not likely to stop. And there you have it. I have to get back to work now, ok?



And, erm, eat the red ones...